


A Fish Out Of Water

by Jo (jmathieson)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Canadian Shack (this one's in Main), Couch Cuddles, Couch Sex, Cracky and Tropey and Sappy Oh My!, Fireplaces, First Kiss, First Time, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 09:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a mission goes wrong, Clint and Phil end up in the drink, and then in each other's arms</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fish Out Of Water

“God damn it, Barton. I swear, as soon as we get back to base I’m signing you up for swimming lessons.”

“Sure thing, Bo - " Trying to talk was obviously a bad idea. Clint started coughing again, and this time didn’t stop. He rolled off his back and onto his hands and knees, head hanging between his arms, coughing up the water he’d swallowed. Lying on the rocky shore next to him, Coulson’s expression went from annoyed to concerned, and in a flash he was on his knees next to Clint, one arm around Clint’s shoulders. It hit Phil then, how close he’d come to losing Clint, and he had to force himself to say, calmly,

“Easy, you’re okay, Barton. Just relax and breathe.”

Clint wanted to say that he was trying to breathe, fuck, but he couldn’t talk and fight for air at the same time. Eventually the coughing spasm eased and he sat back on his heels, looking pale and drained. Coulson crouched in front of him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Clint dragged in a long, shallow breath, and when it didn’t set him coughing again he said, “I think so. Thanks for pulling me out.”

Phil almost said, “I wasn’t about to let you drown,” or something equally flip, but he saw how serious Clint’s eyes were and instead just said,

“You’re welcome.”

Clint looked shaken, scared even. So Phil asked,

“If you can’t swim, why did you jump in?”

“I didn’t mean to, but when I saw the goon behind you start to swing that bloody big flashlight at your head, I had to take the shot, because you were busy with the guy in front of you, and you wouldn’t have heard me shout over the sound of the engine. But I kinda had to let go of the mast to draw my bow, and then we hit a wave… Not that it matters, because I would have gone in anyway when the boat exploded.”

Clint had tried to keep his head above water, he’d really tried. He’d even dropped his bow and everything, but the weight of his gear dragged him down despite his frantic kicking and flailing, which had led to him swallowing water and panicking. He was sinking when Phil had grabbed him by the collar, hauled him to the surface and dragged him through the waves to the shore while burning bits of fiberglass rained down around them.

“We should get moving,” Coulson said, climbing to his feet. “We need to find some sort of shelter.”

They were on the coast of Maine in mid-October, and while the day had been warm enough, it would be nightfall soon and they were both soaked to the skin. All the radio equipment had presumably exploded with the boat, and both of their cell phones were wet and dead.

“Yeah, okay.” Clint hauled himself to his feet and looked up and down the coast.

“See anything that looks promising?”

“No, just rocks and trees and more rocks. Which direction should we try?”

“South.”

“Makes sense.”

They headed slowly down the coast, picking their way over driftwood and rocks, sometimes heading into the forest when the strip of pebbly beach gave way a short drop to the sea below. They had been walking for almost two hours when Clint said,

“I think I see a building up ahead.”

Coulson didn’t mutter “Thank God,” though he wanted to. He was cold and tired and his feet hurt. His dress shoes were not designed for two hours of scrambling over rocks, and he’d shrugged out of his suit jacket seconds after hitting the water, to be able to swim faster towards a clearly struggling Clint Barton.

The building turned out to be a small holiday cottage, locked up for the winter. Not locked up anywhere near well enough to keep two cold, wet, tired SHIELD agents out for more than 30 seconds.

“We’ll leave the owners some cash to compensate for anything we use,” said Coulson as he surveyed the inside of the cottage. There was a kitchen to the right and a bathroom beyond it. A closed door on the left probably led to a bedroom. But what was currently holding Phil’s attention was a large open fireplace in the opposite wall of the open-plan living room. There was a full wood box next to it.

“Um, do you think it would be okay if I took a shower, boss? I’m freezing and I smell like a fish.”

“Go ahead, but save me some hot water. I’m going to try to find a phone.”

“Will do.”

Coulson searched the cottage thoroughly, but didn’t find a landline phone anywhere. The kitchen was reasonably well stocked, though, and so he filled a Ziploc bag with instant rice and dropped his phone in. ‘Can’t hurt to try,’ he thought. ‘And if it doesn’t work, we’ll stay here for the night and walk to someplace with a phone in the morning.’

He heard the shower running, and decided on his priorities. The newspaper, kindling, and matches were all easy to find near the fireplace, so he quickly laid and lit a fire. ‘Easier than figuring out the place’s heating system,’ he thought, ‘and cozier, too.’

That done, he rifled through bureau drawers in the bedroom, feeling only slightly guilty as he pulled out two pairs of sweatpants and two sweatshirts. He banged on the bathroom door, and then opened it to a waft of hot steam.

“I’m leaving some dry clothes on the counter for you.”

“Thanks, boss. Be out in a minute!” There was a pile of wet clothes on the bathroom floor, but Phil decided that Clint could deal with those himself. He retreated, allowing himself only the briefest glance at the figure beyond the translucent shower curtain.

He headed back to the kitchen and filled an electric kettle with water then plugged it in. There was coffee and packets of instant soup and a square metal tin full of shortbread cookies which Phil had no qualms about prying open. He’d be sending the owners of this cottage a very nice gift basket as soon as they made it back to New York.

He’d just poured hot water into four mugs (two each of soup and coffee) and was stirring a generous amount of sugar into both coffees when Clint appeared in the doorway, scrubbing his hair with a towel and looking… Phil carefully refrained from using the word ‘adorable’ even in his own head, in the over-large borrowed sweatpants and a sweatshirt that had a picture of a Largemouth Bass on the chest.

“Your turn in the shower, boss.”

“Thanks. Here, I made coffee and soup. Don’t eat all the cookies. And keep an eye on the fire; we don’t want to burn the place down.”

Barton flipped him a mock salute and wrapped his hands around the mug of soup before heading into the living room to check on the fire.

Phil retreated to the bathroom and stood under the hot spray until he felt halfway human again. Then he dressed in the second pair baggy pair of sweats and pulled a bright blue sweatshirt with “U of M” emblazoned on it over his head.

When he emerged carrying his damp clothes, he found Clint huddled in the corner of the sofa facing the fireplace. Clint had draped his wet gear over the metal stand that held fireplace tools and Phil cast around for a better solution. He ended up dragging two dining chairs over and distributed his and Clint’s clothing across their backs, then angled them towards the heat of the fire.

“I brought your coffee and soup,” Clint said, gesturing to the two mugs sitting on the hearth, “And there’s more than half of the cookies left.”

“Thank you.” Phil put another log on the fire, because he knew that once he sat down, he wasn’t going to want to get up again. He retrieved both mugs and took a long drink of the hot coffee before sitting down on the sofa with one in each hand.

Clint didn’t say anything while Phil finished his coffee and soup and a couple of shortbread cookies, seeming content to just stare into the fire. But once he had finished eating, Phil noticed that Clint had pulled himself into a tight ball, and was shivering slightly.

“Are you still cold?”

“M’fine,” Clint muttered, wrapping his arms more tightly around his knees and continuing to stare into the fire.

Phil looked more closely. Clint was certainly not fine. Phil pulled a throw blanket off the back of the sofa, shifted over until he was almost crowding Clint into the corner, and then wrapped the blanket around both of them.

“Almost drowning must be pretty terrifying.”

“I… I’m okay.”

“Sure. Fighting to keep afloat but being dragged under. Having the water close over your head. Not being able to breathe. No reason that should freak you out a little.”

“I’m… yeah, okay, fine. It wasn’t fun. I was scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared when you almost die.”

“It wasn’t the dying part I was scared of. It was the drowning. It just… I… I panicked, okay? When I went under I panicked and I’m not supposed to do that.”

“I know.” Phil snaked his arm around Clint’s shoulders. He knew he shouldn’t, but he did it anyway. “It’s okay.”

Clint leaned into him just a little.

“Um, Phil? Just for ah… future reference or whatever. Don’t take any chances just to save me. I mean, I know I’ve been on borrowed time since Barney and Trickshot left me to bleed to death in that alley, and since I’ve been with SHIELD I’ve done some good, you know. Paid back part of what I owe, maybe. So if I go down now, it’s okay. I’m not scared of dying, and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt or something trying to save me. I’m not worth it. Besides, it’s not like anyone’s gonna miss me or anything.”

Phil bit back his automatic response, knowing that it wouldn’t do any good. He also refrained from tightening his arm around Clint’s shoulders. Instead, he waited for the space of two long, calm, measured breaths, and then said quietly,

“I would miss you.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say something nice to try to make me feel better. I’m fine with it. I just wanted to make sure you knew that, ‘cause I’m real grateful for you pulling me out of the water today and all, but don’t take any chances if it happens again. Okay?”

“No. Not okay.” Phil had let this go far enough, and he was going to quash it even if it meant revealing far more of himself than he ever intended to. He felt Clint tense up a little beside him, and this time he tightened his arm around Clint’s shoulder.

“Clint, look at me. Please.” And when Clint continued to stare stubbornly into the fire, he repeated, softly, quietly. “Please.”

Clint’s head turned and his grey-green eyes regarded Phil calmly.

“I care about you a great deal, Clint. I would miss you. Very much.” Phil let his feelings show in his eyes and his voice.

“You… you really mean that.”

“Yes, I do.”

Clint didn’t say anything, just looked into his eyes for a long moment, and then relaxed into Phil’s side and leaned his head down on Phil’s shoulder. Phil brought his other arm up under the blanket and used it to hold Clint close.

“I care about you too,” Clint said softly, almost whispering. “Probably more than I should.”

“Is that…” Phil trailed off and then started again. “Do you…” and trailed off again as Clint tilted his head back to look into Phil’s eyes.

“Phil, I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”

Instead of answering, Phil met him halfway.

Clint’s lips were warm and dry and soft against his. The kiss was slow and gentle and oh, so sweet. One of Clint’s hands found its way to the side of Phil’s face, and then slid along his jaw to the back of his neck.

Phil wanted more. He’d wanted this for so long, and now that he had it, he wanted everything, but he held himself to the soft, gentle press of his lips against Clint’s.

Clint snaked his other hand around Phil’s waist and pulled him closer, so that Phil was leaning over him in the corner of the sofa. Phil pulled his mouth away.

“Clint, I…” Phil’s voice was rough and he cleared his throat. “This is serious for me. I… I want it to be more than just… I want us to be… together.”

Again, Clint stared deep into his eyes as if the answers of the universe were hidden there. Clint’s forehead furrowed.

“You want that? With me?”

“I want everything with you, Clint. I want you in my life. In my bed. You’re already in my heart.”

“Phil…” Clint pulled Phil down on top of himself, mashing their mouths together desperately and sucking Phil’s tongue into his mouth. Phil matched his desperation, leaning his body over Clint’s as he slid a hand into Clint’s hair. They moaned into each other’s mouths. Clint bucked up under him and Phil felt the press of his hard cock through the borrowed clothes they were wearing.

A little voice at the back of Phil’s mind was yelling at him that this was wrong, that he shouldn’t be doing it, not like this, not here. Phil ignored it. He’d wanted this so much, for so long, that he couldn’t deny himself. Not with Clint moaning and bucking under him, clearly wanting it just as much.

They shifted and squirmed until Clint was lying on the sofa with Phil on top of him, rubbing against each other as they kissed. Phil pulled back again.

“I want…” he said, then gave up and slid his hands under the sweatshirt Clint was wearing, up the warm, still slightly damp skin. Clint shivered and moaned again at the touch, and then squirmed some more to pull the shirt over his head. Phil stared for a moment, transfixed, even though he’d seen Clint undressed on any number of occasions. But now… Phil shifted down just a little, and started to nuzzle and kiss Clint’s shoulders and chest.

“Phil. God, Phil.”

Clint bucked under him again and Phil couldn’t help but grind his hard-on into Clint’s thigh.

“Please, Phil. Fuck. Please.”

Clint wasn’t sure what exactly he was begging for. Phil was swiping a hot tongue across his nipple and Clint didn’t know how much more he could take. He reached down and slid his hands into Phil’s sweatpants, grasping two handfuls of firm, taut buttock and kneading them as he thrust up into Phil’s warmth. The loose over-sized pants slipped down off Phil’s hips as Clint fondled his butt and Phil gasped as the fabric dragged over his cock. Clint moved one hand to his own waist and shoved his sweatpants down. They both moaned as skin met skin.

Clint was pretty sure he was going to come within seconds, just from the feel of his hard dick against the skin of Phil’s taut belly, but then Phil hitched himself up to kiss him again, and reached down to wrap his hand around both their cocks.

“Yes. Fuck. Yes. Phil. Oh God. I’m gonna come. Phil.”

Phil was stroking them both together and it was incredible. He felt Phil pull away for breath and Clint opened his eyes, wanting to see Phil above him. Wanting to imprint this on his memory, so that he’d know for sure that it was real and not just the best wet dream he’d had in years.

Phil was looking down at him with awe and wonder and something that might be… more. And then he moaned, and spasmed, and his eyes snapped shut, and Clint could feel the throb of Phil’s cock next to his and the hot wetness in Phil’s hand, still sliding slickly over both of them. And as Phil gasped, and leaned his damp forehead on Clint’s shoulder, Clint came too, with a soft cry.

Clint brought his arms up, circled Phil’s back, and held him close.

“Thank you,” he whispered into Phil’s ear, and then kissed Phil’s temple, tasting salt, and said, “thank you” again. Phil didn’t move for long minutes, and then levered himself up and withdrew a sticky hand from between their bodies.

“Need to clean up,” he said.

“Here, use this.” Clint snagged the towel he’d used on his hair off the floor and handed it to Phil. Phil shifted to one side and wiped the mess off his hand and both their bellies, then dropped the towel back onto the floor.

“Am I too heavy?” Phil asked, realizing that he was still lying mostly on top of Clint.

“No.” Clint tightened his arms around Phil. “I… I like it. Phil?”

“Yes?”

“Did you… did you really mean it when you said you wanted this to be… that you wanted us to be... together?”

Phil shifted in Clint’s arms and looked into his eyes.

“I really meant it. Is that… is that what you want?”

“Yeah. I do. Yeah.”

“Good.” Phil pillowed his head on Clint’s shoulder and pulled the throw blanket over them. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Selori for the beta, and all of Strike Team Clint Coulson for the support and encouragement.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at: [Queen of Wands](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/)


End file.
